


Ache

by p1013



Series: Kinkuary 2021 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Partners, HP Kinkuary 2021, M/M, Not Between Draco and Harry, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Second Person, Physical Abuse, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29159649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: You're together in silence. The indistinct flow of music that fills the pub fades. Your elbows brush.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinkuary 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140512
Comments: 41
Kudos: 227
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	Ache

**Author's Note:**

> Day One - Praise Kink

The back of a hand across your face, his ring hard and stinging against the delicate bones of your cheek. There's a crack that you hear inside of your skull. You taste blood, but moving your mouth to swallow it down sends shards of agony coursing through your body. He scowls and screams, and you sit, stoic against the pain, and listen. He's your father. He knows best. And as he tells you that you're nothing, that you're worthless, that you're a disappointment, you know that he cannot be wrong.

* * *

"Good job, Malfoy," your partner says, his green eyes twinkling with satisfaction. "I don't think I could've solved this one without you."

It's nearly as painful as a blow, the way his praise settles deep into your bones. It aches like your cheek does on cold days, the long-healed break throbbing with your pulse in winter. You taste copper on your tongue, and you aren't sure if it's nerves or nearly forgotten blood.

But it's warm, like his smile, like the glow of his skin, like a golden field of wheat in the heat of a summer's day. It nourishes you, makes something in your chest unfurl like new growth, green like his eyes and just as tentative.

He's the Wizarding World's golden boy. Why would he lie to you about this?

* * *

You're three drinks in, and the world swims around you in a haze. The lights are blurred and beautiful for it, moving in streaks of bright colour as you turn your head this way and that. You're lighter than you've been in days, buoyed by alcohol and a sense of satisfaction from a job well done. Another case closed, another satisfied smile from Potter. It's addictive, mind-bending. It burns through you as much as the liquor does, and as you down another swallow, you find yourself caught by the similarity, the way you chase the buzz of both.

"Hey, Malfoy," he says as he settles on the stool next to you as if your wandering mind had gone out and found him and brought him to you. "What're we drinking?"

You swirl what little remains of your whisky, then down the rest. You swear you can feel his eyes on your throat as you swallow, but that could be intoxication or hope (more likely both) rather than reality.

"Ogden's Twenty," you say as you gesture with your empty glass to the bartender. The man, fit and personable but not what you're in the mood for tonight, nods before pulling the bottle down from the back counter and walking to your seat.

"One for me, too," Potter says, watching as the golden liquid fills your glass. The bartender nods and pulls another old fashioned glass from behind the bar, and a moment later, you're drinking with Potter.

You're together in silence. The indistinct flow of music that fills the pub fades. Your elbows brush.

"You look good," Potter says, and it's another sharp, glowing blade quenched with your heart’s blood. "I mean, I'm sure you know that, but…"

You force the words out past your tight throat. "Thank you."

When Potter turns on his stool, his knee touches yours. There's no way to interpret the motion but as intentional. He presses the joint harder against your leg, and you let it fall wide, open and waiting for Potter to slide closer.

Which he does.

"I know this is probably an idiotic idea," he says, eyes lowered to the bow of your mouth, the dip of your throat, "but if you wanted to, sometime, I'd like to take you to dinner."

The knife twists and you say yes.

* * *

His hands are on your hips. His nose brushes against yours, his lips questing. You can't breathe, can't think.

"Please," he whispers against your mouth. "I've wanted to kiss you for months, Draco. Please."

You let him, or he lets you, you aren't sure. All you can do is drown in him, lost amongst the current of your blood and trusting his grip against your skin to guide you to shore. When you part for breath, he shifts his mouth to your skin. Words fall from his lips like petals from a dying rose.

"So gorgeous," he says against the cartilage of your throat. "You've no idea what you do to me. You're all I can think about."

You shiver and shake.  _ Why would he lie? _ you wonder. His hands find the hem of your shirt and bury themselves beneath it. His palms are like brands against your flesh, though he's already put indelible marks across your chest. Shaking fingers trace them, delicate and uncertain.

"I'm sorry," he whispers as he maps them with his mouth.

You try to tell him not to be, that your life has been written out with injuries and that his touch now does nothing but heal.

Your bones ache.

He opens your body with careful fingers. He touches you like you're something delicate, something valuable. You think you'll shatter from it. You're made of paper-thin porcelain and he shines through you like sunlight. Cradled in his hands, you wait for the inevitable fall.

But it never comes. Instead, he holds you close, even as he moves within your body. You can feel him everywhere, and not a single pinpoint of touch is pain. Pleasure meanders through you, leaving you open and cracked, but not broken. There are tears in your eyes, and he kisses them away, dries them with soft, gentle words.

"So good," he says against your cheek, the one your father broke so many years ago. "God, Draco, you're so good."

He wouldn't lie to you, not now (you suspect not ever). And as you come, you wrap your arms around him, pull him tight to you, press your mouth to his so you can swallow his words and make them a part of you, so you can maybe, for an instant, believe them.

* * *

He's standing before you, at the end of a white carpet littered with red petals. The sun is behind him, and though he's only a dark silhouette against the sky, you would know his shape anywhere. You can't see his eyes, but you can feel them.

You walk forward, and when you're across from him, he takes your hands in his. It isn't proper, but you don't pull away. His thumb coasts across the barren expanse of your fingers and settles on the one where his ring will soon be.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, and he doesn't lie. "I'm so happy."

Your cheek aches, and your heart aches, and your bones ache, but it's all with joy, rather than pain. Light spills from him into you, and you reflect it back, a mirror to his sun.

When he says his vows, you believe him. And when you say yours back, and he slides a thin band of gold onto your hand, you can't help but think your father was wrong after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Ooops, I seem to have spilled feelings into my kink. We'll see how the rest of the month goes.
> 
> For those not in the know, this is part of [HP Kinkuary](https://hpkinkuary.tumblr.com/). I'm going to do my damnedest to participate each day, though I'm already off to a late start. Expect another fic from me today for it, though.


End file.
